


to dine with your finest wine

by ebi fry (Elliasinism)



Series: prayers before the meal [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Eating Disorders, Food, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Short, based on the first bad end?, no romance even if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29130531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliasinism/pseuds/ebi%20fry
Summary: akira cooks but never eats.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: prayers before the meal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137539
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	to dine with your finest wine

Akira rarely eats.

When he does, it’s Sojiro’s curry when he gets caught to eat for breakfast, or Ann’s crepes during their little outings, or Ryuji’s protein drinks when they train. He eats when Futaba forcefully shoves her instant ramen down his throat so Sojiro wouldn’t catch her eating more, or when Haru asks him to taste her grown vegetables, or Makoto’s snacks when they study together And even those were very rare. Akira can take hunger; never was bothered by hunger.

But Akira hates it when his friends go hungry.

He might tease Morgana about his intense love for fatty tuna, but Akira would always make sure that he buys his cat not-cat sushi when he asks for it. And he loves it when Morgana purrs and curls on his chest after a nice meal, how he’d thank Akira and say, “You’ve really got good taste!”

And Yusuke, oh the lovely Yusuke. The slender boy needs not ask, when he hears the chime of the cafe’s bells and the sighs of an exasperated artist, begging for inspiration to hit him in the head, Akira already has a plate of warm and steamy curry.

Yusuke would visibly perk up, eyes alight, and without any shame (as he’s supposed to) digs into the meal and reduces it to nothing in mere minutes. Akira would chuckle, and without prompting, hand him another batch. Akira loves it when the artist would suddenly sit up and exclaim, “Eureka, Akira! I must thank you for the meal and the wonderful epiphany it has brought me!” and with whatever color Yusuke’s got up in his head, he heads out to chase his passion.

And he’s fine with it, really, he loves nothing more than to feed them, see their smiles grow big and their eyes wrinkle, telling him “Thank you,” and “I really liked that.”

And Akira settles on that, their gratefulness, how much they value him. How he can truly be called their friend without any reservations. So he hands his lunch to Morgana, buys Yusuke meals, and entertains the others.

He gives and gives and gives.

And if he grows hungry?

He looks at their hearts, warm and loved, and feeds.

  
  
  


He serves Akechi coffee. A blend he likes, if the slight curve of his lips whenever he takes a sip is any indication.

But just as fast as his sips, his smile quickly turns plastic. “Thank you for the coffee, Kurusu-kun,” he’d say, and then they were talking about weird mental gymnastics or Akechi was doing more work.

And he’d pay before he leaves - of course he does - dropping the yen by the counter and politely bowing to Sojiro and him. And then he’s gone.

And Akira was always hungry, so hungry, for a smile that would tell him that Akechi was truly grateful. Something the older boy greedily held and never gave him.

So Akira would give, and give, and _give_ \--

Yet Akechi would look at him with knowing vermillion eyes, refusing to accept, drinking his coffee like a customer and never a friend.

Akira thinks they were friends, maybe sprinkled with a little more intricacies that really has no business in teenage friendships, but still friends nonetheless.

But what if Akira was wrong?

If mountains of cups of coffee can’t get Akechi, who’s to say the Thieves were satisfied with what he gave them?

They’re not enough, of course they’re not.

Akira would always be like that; forcing himself in for being a lackluster son, a lackluster friend. He couldn’t do things right: couldn’t save the lady, couldn’t save the kids, always the outcast with no one to be with.

He sat in that dingy room, his head hazy, his ribs aching, his body screaming about how much it _hurts_ , thinking of how little he meant, how little he mattered.

 _It’s the drugs_ , he tried to convince himself. _It’s the drugs. You’re here because your friends trust you. You’re here because you wouldn’t want them to be here._

They didn’t know what would happen.

They didn’t know the pain the men in suits would bring.

They didn’t know he was going to retch and puke and wish, and beg, that he was anywhere but here.

But Akira had a nagging feeling, a voice at the very back.

 ** _“You weren’t enough._** ”

And maybe it was right.

He couldn’t even find it in himself to trust the thieves, his friends, because that’s all Akira would ever be.

He couldn’t even properly convince Sae.

And he watched with fear and dread as the woman rose from her seat and looked at him with eyes oozing with pity and conviction. She looked like her sister, steel and unwavering.

“Goodbye, Kurusu,” she’d said as she opened the door and stepped outside, leaving Akira in his metallic little box that would soon be his grave.

  
  
  


But Akira couldn’t help the small feeling of joy as the door opened once again, revealing a man in blue uniform and a boy with coffee-colored hair.

And his friend smiled at him, wine red eyes seeping deep into his soul; silencing his fears and worries, conveying _I understand_...

His hunger was satiated, his doubts nullified.

“Thank you for the meal,” a boy had said.

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha this is a first for me, i'm going to try and get a hang of writing pre-existing characters and so far im suffering. but if youve read it: thank you!! ^^


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